Page 47 of The Best Parts of Him

“Of course I did.”

“And she has a special spot on your bookshelf.”

“She has a spot on my bookshelf.”

“A special spot.”

“A spot.”

“Excuse you, I don’t see any other stuffies on your shelf.” Ryland hugged her close. “She’s special. Admit it.”

Dabbs would do no such thing.

Amused by him, he planted a hand on his hip. “Do you want to see what I’ve been working on or not?”

“Sorry, yes. Of course. I’ll stop squeeing about the fact that you obviously like me.”

Dabbs made a choked sound that was vaguely embarrassing.

Sure, he liked Ryland. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was . . .

What again?

“Is this it?” Ryland gestured at the manuscript. “What am I looking at exactly?” He moved closer to Dabbs, still clutching Shannon, and read off the front cover. “The Hockey Diaries, Book 1 by P.N. Leeds. Who’s that?”

“It’s me,” Dabbs croaked, distracted by Ryland’s scent. He cleared his throat and tried again. “It’s me. It’s, uh . . . I wrote a trilogy of middle-grade books, sort of plugging away at them over the past few years.”

Ryland appeared more impressed by this than he had by the French thing. “You write?”

“Since I was a kid.” Dabbs sat on the end of the bed and held his manuscript almost reverently. “My therapist tasked me with writing my feelings in a journal, and eventually that morphed into me writing short stories about a kid going through the same things I was. Putting my problems on someone else—even if they were fictional—helped me process my own baggage.”

“So you wrote a book,” Ryland said, sitting on his right.

“Three,” Dabbs corrected. “I don’t have the second two printed though.”

“Why this one?” Ryland set Shannon aside and took the manuscript from Dabbs, handling it in his good arm with as much care as Dabbs had. As though he understood that this was Dabbs’ heart and soul in paper form.

“Because I wanted to see it laid out like it might look once formatted. It helped me see where I might be able to fit in an illustration.”

Ryland’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline. “You draw too?”

“Oh god, no. I have no artistic ability whatsoever.”

Snorting a laugh, Ryland paged through the manuscript. “Doesn’t one of your teammates illustrate children’s books?”

“Yeah, but his style isn’t what I’m looking for. He’s given me the names of a few artists he knows though.”

“This is awesome,” Ryland said softly. “What’s the trilogy about?”

“A group of three friends who play hockey together and who all have difficult home lives for different reasons. They’re meant to show kids that they’re not alone and that help is available if they need it. Plus I plan on donating all of the proceeds to a charity in Canada that helps kids struggling with difficult home lives.”

“Wow. Kyle, that’s amazing. Think of the difference you’ll make.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Except . . . ” Flipping back to the cover, Ryland ran his fingers over it. “What’s with this P.N. Leeds thing?”

“That’s the pen name I chose.”